September 26-28: Autumn Aster, Indigenous, & Sea of Night

Autumn Aster

These autumnal flowers populate my line of vision
(their petals fan before me).
I want to call them beautiful, but I know I’ve seen them
in a dream.
(Sometimes, I’m not even sure I want to wake up.)

The beauty they hold is fleeting
because, in a dream, everything dissolves.
I want to hold them in my hands,
but the petals fall
before I can even rip the stems from the earth.

So, instead, I close my eyes
and clasp their memories
like a bouquet.


Indigenous

When you hear the word, it calls to mind a certain culture.
What I might think of might be different from what he thinks,
but nonetheless, we think of a person native to a space.
(I was once called a creature of constellations,
indigenous to the stars that tattoo the heavens.)

I think of him as a man tethered to the earth,
a solid weight that refuses to budge,
despite the shifting plates underneath him.

Each person has a landscape they are indigenous to
(like a cologne you might dab on your wrists
or a scent unique to you as a person, that unmistakable essence).

Yours might be a forgotten forest, hers might be
the mountains,
his might be among the grains of sand that comprise a beach
with turquoise waters.

(I was once called a creature of constellations,
indigenous to the stars that tattoo the heavens.)

If beauty lies in the strange, then I might be the loveliest,
yet I only saw it when the words glittered before me
(bright as a neon sign).

A spattering of stars shine in my eyes,
and maybe once and a while,
this alien is homesick
(for a planet, a sequence of stars,
a galaxy you can’t even imagine).

astronomy-backlit-blue-mountains-1434608


Sea of Night

The stars scattered across the sea of night like blinking, silver sea lilies.
I swear I see a planet swirl past, and I wonder if it’s as lost as me.
I still want to tell you every story from start to end, but now I wonder
would you listen with the rapt attention of a doctor listening for a heartbeat?

(Or am I just swirling out of orbit before I am as distant as a star,
as obsolete as a memory you can roll in thin papers and smoke away?)

-Lucie Guerre

 

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